Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like This
by ShadoeKylie
Summary: Tremors - Burt Gummer makes an unexpected rescue!
1. Prologue

Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like This  
  
By Shadoe Masters  
  
This is Part 1 of "The Great Burt Baiting Saga." These stories center on the characters from Tremors: The Series, and feature Burt, Tyler, and all the gang from Perfection Valley. There are also original characters of my own creation - just so you're warned ahead of time. But please don't let that scare you off. I hope you enjoy them.  
  
Feedback: Please let me know what you think of each story. I love feedback, both good and bad, and the more detailed the better.  
  
Disclaimer: "Tremors" is not owned by me or my affiliates, but by Stampede Entertainment, Universal Studios, and their affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended - just some good, clean (well, mostly) fun!  
  
E-mail: shadoemagic@aol.com  
  
Thanks to my beta reader: LadyNRA 


	2. Part 1

**Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like _This_  
Part 1**

Perfection, Nevada, 5/15/2003 

Burt Gummer scanned the site with approval and decided to call it a night. Everything was in place for the noon survival school group tomorrow. He'd drop off supplies at first light and be at Chang's to pick up the latest batch of weak, pansy, government drones by ten. Time enough for coffee before they arrived. His lips curved into a half grin as he thought of the new surprises he'd built into the terrain just for them. He stowed his gear neatly in the back of his truck and automatically checked the graboid monitor mounted between the seats as he climbed inside. El Blanco, Perfection Valley's protected 30 foot underground monster, was heading in his direction from the valley entrance. While he watched, the graboid made a sharp, ninety degree loop and headed back the way he'd come. 

Burt's eyes narrowed. El Blanco's hasty turn was just sufficiently out of character for the beast that he decided to investigate. Shouldn't be a tourist, not this late, but lately there'd been some kids from Bixby talking themselves into exploring the valley on some kind of sick initiation ritual. If that was the case, he'd add a number three to the new list he'd created just for them. He shifted the truck into gear and poured on the speed. 

~~~

She was young, twentysomething, bopping in her seat to the beat of the rock and roll that blared from the Range Rover's speakers. The back of the SUV was loaded tight with boxes, bags, suitcases and miscellaneous bits and pieces stuffed into crannies. The front passenger seat was littered with empty Pepsi bottles, crumpled potato chip bags and various other trash that spilled onto the boxes on the floorboard. She pulled the Pepsi bottle she kept balanced between her legs and took last swig from the before adding it to the mess, then flipped her trendily-styled blond hair back out of her eyes. She spotted an approaching sign and read, "Entering Perfection Valley." 

"At last," she muttered, well below the radio's blaring rock and roll. She checked the time readout on the console. "Ten o'clock," she said. "Not that damn late. Feels like two." She blinked her eyes and gave in to a yawn, missing the big yellow sign at the side of the road. Belatedly, the sign's contents registered on her tired mind, and she hit the brakes. Shifting into reverse, she looked behind the seat, couldn't see over the mounds of cargo, then peered into the large side mirrors while she backed up to the sign, leaving the SUV canted slightly sideways until the lights illuminated the sign clearly. 

Sliding the gearshift into neutral, she studied the sign, while pulling her blond hair off her face again and stroking each eye with one manicured fingernail to avoid smearing her makeup. She took a moment to shift in the seat and wiggle her legs a bit. "What the hell is a graboid?" she muttered, unlatching the seatbelt so she could stretch. She giggled. "She said Perfection was a strange place, but this... Even the road signs are in on it." She chuckled, then put the SUV in gear. 

Suddenly the truck lurched like something hit it. Something big. She spun around, peering vainly into the surrounding darkness. "What the--" 

Whatever it was slammed into the truck again, sending it spinning. The woman screamed, clutching the steering wheel with both hands as the two right tires slid off the pavement and the SUV came to a rest, stalled. 

The woman looked through the windows and mirrors frantically, trying to find the source of the attack. She couldn't make out anything in the darkness and didn't waste more time looking further. She cranked the ignition, then floored the gas. The SUV fishtailed briefly, throwing dirt into the air, but after the left side tires laid a patch of rubber on the pavement, the vehicle started to move. 

Not soon enough. Something hit the Range Rover from the bottom this time, flipping it across the highway, out of control. It came to a rest, spinning on its top, windows shattered and contents spread across the truck's ceiling and the pavement. The woman crawled around in the wreckage and scattered contents of the cab, her hands digging for something, anything, she might be able to use as a weapon against _whatever_ it was attacking her. 

Her left hand closed over the hilt of her athame and she pulled it toward her. It was a long, black, double-sided blade. Beautifully-carved, but unfortunately quite dull. She had three swords, all nicely razor-sharp and longer than her arm. And all packed quite carefully in their cases, buried deep in the middle of the cargo in the back. Not for the first time, she wished she had a gun. A really _big_ gun. She'd have to settle for the athame. If jabbed it with enough force, she was sure it could puncture... something. 

She struggled to her hands and knees, trying in vain to avoid the shattered glass. She clutched the knife like her life depended on it, opened her eyes and ears and other senses as wide as she could, and waited. 

She didn't wait long. Something wrapped around her left ankle and pulled. 

She spun, screaming, grabbing for the bucket seats with her left hand, and bracing herself against the doorframe with her leg. She was a strong girl - daily gym workouts saw to that - but one leg and an arm didn't stand up long against the force of the thing that had her. She could just barely see it in the dim interior illumination and reflected light from the headlights, still pointing off into the desert, but it looked like some kind of creature, a snake, maybe. A big, ugly, _very strong_ snake. With teeth. 

It tugged at her leg once more, hard. The very designer boot with the three inch heel slipped on the door frame and she was sucked out into the night. Screaming, she twisted, almost sitting up, as the _thing_ dragged her toward the dirt at the side of the road. Instinctively, she knew she did _not_ want to go there. She brought the blade over her head, and, wrapping both hands firmly around the hilt, she brought it down into the creature as hard as she could. The blade thunked into the creature's side, just at the very edge of the pavement. The pulling stopped as the thing around her ankle released her and slid away. Something, further off in the darkness, screamed, and reared above her. In the dim red illumination from the tail lights, she could see it was _huge_. The snake retreated back into the thing's cavernous mouth while the woman watched in horror. 

Pulling the knife from the ground, she twisted and scrambled to hands and knees. She tried to get away, but wasn't nearly fast enough. The creature retreated back into the ground and the tentacles - three of them this time - came after her across the pavement. She screamed again, knowing it was no use, and tried to scramble away. 

One of the tentacles slammed into her back and another across her legs, knocking her flat. She twisted, jabbing at the thing with her knife, but it was too fast for her, darting in and back. While two of the tentacles kept her busy, the third had latched onto her leg again and started pulling her toward the side of the road. She brought the knife over her head again, preparing to strike, but some part of her knew she was doomed. 


	3. Part 2

**Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like _This_  
Part 2**

Burt topped a rise, saw the headlights pointed at a crazy angle across the desert, and immediately deduced the problem. "That damned sign," he muttered, pressing the accelerator to the floor. "Damned tourists. Goddamned underground monsters." He muttered a few more epithets while his truck hurtled toward the scene of the overturned SUV. He slammed on the brakes and threw himself from the truck, already reaching for a concussion grenade from his vest in the back. He prepared to throw it while assessing the situation. A woman was caught in the thing's tentacles. If he tossed the grenade, the graboid would likely tear her leg off trying to get away. He started toward the woman at a run, reaching for the Desert Eagle at his side. While he watched, the woman bent double, a good sized blade raised above her head, and plunged it into the tentacle wrapped around her leg. It went into the tentacle and into the dirt below, but only slowed the beast. 

"Wanting more punishment?" he sneered at the beast. "I've got something you'll like." He reached the woman, who by then had pulled the knife out and was preparing to strike again. When she caught sight of him, she reached for him instead, taking a surprisingly strong grasp on his thigh. He planted both combat boots in the dirt and braced himself. Standing over the woman, he took careful one-handed aim and fired one shot into the tentacle. El Blanco screamed, the tentacle retreated, and Burt popped the concussion grenade. He rolled it across the few feet of dirt separating them, then pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her toward his own truck. 

_BAM!_ The concussion grenade went off - far too close. The woman's knees buckled beneath her at the sound, even as El Blanco disappeared. 

"No!" Burt shouted, pulling the woman up again and toward the truck. "He's gone," he shouted, "but he won't stay away long. Get in the truck!" She tried to comply, but she couldn't get her legs under her. Burt scooped her up, heading for the passenger side. She reached for the door herself and he boosted her inside, slamming the door behind him as he sped toward the other side. He put the truck in gear, did a tight u-turn, then floored it down the highway toward town. 

~~~

As Burt had guessed, El Blanco didn't stay away for long. His seismo monitor showed the graboid in hot pursuit. Burt poured on the power, but he knew he wouldn't help the little town of Perfection by leading El Blanco down the main street. Making a quick decision, he swerved off the road at a turnoff, and headed up a stony ridge. The graboid couldn't follow there, and if luck were with them, he'd lose the graboid long enough to make his compound. 

"What the hell was that?" the girl screamed. "What the _hell_ was that?" She twisted and turned in her seat, trying to pierce the darkness. "Where is it? Is it following?" 

"Underground!" Burt shouted in return. 

The girl's shoulders shot out the side as she scanned the dirt speeding by below the truck. "I don't see it! Where is it?" 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside. He thumped the top of the seismo. "Watch it on the monitor." 

"Is that us?" she shouted. "It's too close! Go faster!" 

"Not on this rough terrain," Burt shouted back. But he edged the speedometer up a notch. 

The girl slid across the seat as he took another turn, finally loosing the death grip she had on the knife and it went clattering across Burt's seismo monitor and to the floor at his feet. She dove for it but he slammed her back in her seat. "Later!" 

He sped along the ridge, noting El Blanco's parallel course. If he could make it in time, he should be able to swing around the back of his compound while El Blanco had to detour around a rocky extrusion. He calculated he'd beat the creature to the gate, but not by much. 

As he came over the ridge, the truck took to the air. Not long, and not far, but it was enough to toss the girl around in her seat. She let out a scream as she grabbed the roll bar to keep herself in the truck but otherwise didn't complain as they bounced roughly over the terrain. 

He raced the truck down the hill toward his compound, already grabbing for the control to open his gate. He slammed on the brakes just as El Blanco rounded the extrusion and raced toward them. Dust, rocks, and debris flew as he took the turn too fast, but the Power Wagon stayed level. He gunned it again and went flying through the gate, slamming to a halt bare inches from the far fence. 

Heart racing, he watched the monitor. El Blanco veered off course, circling around the compound. "Looking for a way in, aren't you? You won't find one," he taunted the graboid smugly. He clicked the gate control and closed them into the compound. 

"Are we safe?" the girl cried, her fright-widened eyes scanning the night around them, flicking back to the monitor, then back out to the darkness again. "It can't get in?" 

"We're safe," he assured her. "This compound is encased in two foot thick, steel-reinforced cement walls, sides and bottom." 

She still searched the night. "Is it electric? That fence doesn't look very--" 

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "El Blanco is an underground monster. He won't come over the walls." 

"What's El Blanco?" She still twisted and turned, but her breathing was starting to calm. 

"Graboid. Caederus americana," he continued, when all he got was a blank stare. "Haven't you ever heard of a graboid?" 

She shook her head, distracted, still scanning the night. 

He shook his head. "No matter, later, I can--" He noticed the blood then. Hers. "What happened to your hands?" he asked, pulling the nearest toward him. The palms were shredded, embedded with rocks, dirt and, if he wasn't mistaken, safety glass. 

She looked down then, as if she'd only just noticed the wounds when he mentioned them. "When the Rover flipped, the windows went. You're sure that thing can't get in?" 

"Absolutely," he said. "We'll need to get you inside and tend to these." He opened the truck door. When he started to slide out, his feet came across the knife she'd dropped. He picked it up and examined it. The hilt was too ornate to be practical, the blade was just slightly over a foot long, which put it severely out of balance, and... "This blade is dull as a butter knife," he accused. 

She snatched it from his hands. "It's a ceremonial knife," she explained, cradling it to herself. "It's supposed to be dull." 

He shrugged. Tourists. "Well, let's get you inside." He slid out of the truck. 

"Inside?" she replied, looking around at the almost featureless compound. He opened the door for her and waited for her to get out. She didn't move. "Inside?" 

He nodded his head toward the almost-hidden stairway. "I live underground." When she only looked at him, the puzzled expression her only reaction, he elaborated. "It's quite safe from graboids, shriekers and assblasters, I can assure you." 

"From what?" 

He wondered if English was her first language. "They're--" He shook his head again. "Later. Right now, let's get your hands taken care of." He took her arm to help her out of the truck. She was just a little thing, he noticed, and his truck was quite far off the ground for someone her size - he wondered if she'd be able to get out on her own. She slid out of the seat and jumped to the ground, but let out a cry as her feet touched the ground. Her legs buckled under her. "Damned graboid," he muttered as he scooped her up for the second time that night. "We'll have to look at that leg, too," he said, by way of explanation. After kicking the door shut, he headed across the compound and down the stairs. 

He reached the bottom and paused. He turned around so her back was to his keypad and punched in the code, then opened the door. 

The room was illuminated only by the soft glow of the equipment he'd left running. He flipped on the lights and she looked around, then back at him. "What is this, some kind of secret military base?" 

"No," he said shortly and deposited her a bit brusquely in the nearest chair. 

She let out a yip as she landed, giving Burt a moment's guilt. Perhaps to make up for it, his voice gentled as he turned on the nearby lamp and knelt in front of her. "Now let's see those hands." She obediently put them into his so he could examine them closely under the light. "Hmmm... No deep cuts, but lots of glass and dirt. We'll need to get that out and clean them. It won't be pleasant." He dropped her hands and started to reach for the leg with the smear of graboid slime around the ankle, but she pulled it out of his grasp. "I'll, ah, need to examine your leg. See if it's broken or..." 

"Oh. Yeah." She nodded. "Of course." She slid her foot closer to him and he carefully felt the bones from ankle to thigh. Then he took her foot and rotated it slowly. 

"Ow!" He looked a question at her, but she shook her head. "Just a little bit of pain, not serious. Not really." 

He nodded. "Where does it hurt most?" 

"Well, everywhere, mostly..." She paused, apparently considering the source of the pain, then put her hand just where her thigh met her hip. "Here's worst." 

He considered a moment. The graboid was pulling pretty hard. It could be dislocated at the hip. Didn't seem likely, though, or she'd be in a lot more pain. Probably just strained. "All right, let's see if you can move it first." He stood and went to her side. "Now lean against me," he instructed, pulling her away from the injured leg. He leaned down and pulled her against his chest until she was nearly vertical and her weight was off the injured side. "Now see if you can move it around a bit." 

She could. But not easily. 

Then she started shaking. "I-I c-c-c-c--" 

"Adrenaline letdown," he diagnosed. "Just try to relax..." 

The shaking intensified, her body almost convulsing. When she very nearly spilled off the chair, Burt took her in his arms and lowered her carefully to the floor. "Just relax," he said gently. "Just ride it out..." He murmured other soothing words until the shuddering lessened. When the shaking gentled to irregular quivers, he pulled away enough to look into her eyes. "Better?" 

She nodded, though her eyes still looked wild. 

"Good," he said. "I'll get you something." He let go of her and got to his feet, going into the safe room and returning with a plastic cup filled with an amber fluid. "Drink this down," he said, kneeling next to her. 

He put the cup carefully to her lips, gently pouring some into her mouth. She swallowed then coughed and sputtered. "Ugh! What is this?" 

"Whiskey," he replied. 

"Ugh." She grimaced. 

"It'll help, though. Drink it down." 

She took another swallow, doing better this time, then another. She'd almost finished the cup when a sudden tremor shook her and the rest spilled down the front of her shirt and the top of her jeans. She wiped ineffectually at it until her hand slid across a patch of graboid slime. "Eew. What...?" She looked at the slime stretching from her hand to her shirt then took a closer look at the shirt. It was covered with slime, as were the jeans. "Get it off," she demanded, her voice gone harsh. "Get it off!" Her voice rose as she pulled at the shirt. Her eyes went wide again and her breath came in pants as she snatched at it, trying to tear it from her body. 

Burt reached out to pull it over her head, but she backed away from him, turning her face away. "No! It can't touch me!" She tore at the shirt, ripping small holes in it, her nails digging into the flesh of her arms. 

Burt wasted no more time. Quickly he reached for the knife at his side with one hand, while he pulled the neck of the shirt away from her with the other. Slipping the knife under the shirt, he cut it with one downward stroke from top to bottom. She dove out of the shirt, now struggling with the waistband of her jeans. She tore two manicured fingernails off but got the pants undone, then Burt helped her peel them off. 

She crab-walked away from them, still screaming, "Get it of! Get it off!" 

Burt crawled after her, taking her in his arms again to calm her. He spoke all the soothing words he could think of but she kept staring at the pile of slime-covered clothes and shrieking "No no no no no..." 

She struggled get away and Burt fought to hold her still so she wouldn't injure herself further. Finally he wrapped both legs around hers trying to keep her still, but that only made her buck and writhe more. Her hair fell into her face and she screamed louder. 

"My hair! My hair! God it's in my hair!" She started tearing at her hair then, looking for slime and pulling patches of it out. 

"It's not in your hair!" Burt shouted, but she was beyond listening. As long as she could see the visible reminder of her earlier ordeal, she panicked. 

There was only one thing he could think of to do. He got his feet under him and stood, then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then headed for the safe room. He put her down on the cabinet platform he'd built into a bed and sat next to her, pulling her against his chest. "It's not in your hair," he murmured. "It's gone. Your hair is fine. It can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to be afraid..." 

He murmured soothing words to her until she stopped screaming, until her breath didn't come in anguished, throat-searing gasps, until she lay quietly in his arms, weeping. He rocked her, back and forth, and she clung to him like she'd never willingly let go. 

He pulled away from her, examining her face. Her eyes were dull, listless and staring. "You better now?" 

She nodded at last, slowly. "I... I need to... I have to get this... this off." She looked around the tiny room, searching for something. "Do you have a... a shower or something?" 

He nodded to the alcove opposite, where a handheld showerhead hung from the wall. 

"Could I-- I have to take a shower. I need-- This has to be off." 

"That's fine," he said, in that tone of voice you use with invalids and crazy people. He wasn't quite sure which category he planned to put her in. Probably both. "It'll take a minute to warm up the water." Careful to avoid her injuries and keep her calm, he moved away from her and went to his bathroom alcove. He turned the water on and moved about, laying out towels and soap where she would be able to reach them. 

When the water was as hot as it was going to be, he went to get her, waking her from some kind of reverie when he approached. "I'm sorry I don't have a tub--" 

"Ugh! No!" She shuddered. "I don't want to be _in_ it." 

He nodded. "Still, you can't stand long on that leg." He scooped her up again and carried her to the alcove, stopping at the entrance. "It's all one unit," he explained about the plumbing system he'd installed. "So you can just pull that out and sit down if you need to." 

"Now I'm in prison," she said, eyeing the toilet. It was one of those she'd seen in jail cells on tv. But at least she tried to summon a smile. 

He worked up a half grin in response and set her down. He slowly pulled his hands away as she clutched the wall and took on more of her own weight. 

His hands were resting lightly on her waist when he realized she wore only a bright blue bra with matching bikini panties and the knee-high boots she'd been wearing earlier. He snatched his hands away as he felt his face heat up and looked away. 

"If you could just... help with the boots," she suggested. 

"Sure, of course." He knelt immediately and started working at the laces, but they didn't work. Her leg pulled away as she turned her foot slightly, revealing the zippers at the side. 

"Women's clothes," he muttered. "I don't understand..." He unzipped the first one, carefully working it from her injured foot, then she leaned heavily against the doorway as he quickly removed the other. 

She limped into the shower and stood under the water, letting it beat against her head, ignoring him completely. He watched her a moment, then caught himself, and hastily pulled the shower curtain closed. 

"You should find everything in there," he called. "Let me know if there's anything you need." Not that he'd have it, but... 

"Uh-huh," came the muffled reply. Then two wet plops as first her bra then panties hit the floor. 

Quickly, he walked away from the alcove, looking around. Clothes. She'd need something to wear. He went to the bed again and opened the deep drawers underneath. He pulled an olive-drab t-shirt from one and a pair of desert cammo pants from the other. He reached into the smaller drawer to the side and pulled out a pair of skivvies then realized his mistake. He quickly stuffed them back in. The shirt and pants would do for now. He laid the clothes out on the bed and waited. 

After twenty minutes, he wondered if he should check on her. She was taking such a long time. She could have fallen or hurt herself. He probably would have heard, but... She could be having another panic attack for all he knew. Then the water turned off. He heard her whimpering and gasping quietly. All the twisting and turning while drying herself off, he surmised. 

That put an all-too-vivid picture in his mind that he could have done without. He ruthlessly suppressed that and thought about the newest improvements to his geo-phone system. 

When she was silent a while, he thought she'd come out but still no sign. "Are you all right?" he called. 

"Do you have any bigger towels?" 

He thought of the army surplus towels, which barely circled his waist when he shaved in the morning. "No, I'm afraid that's all I have." 

She dragged the curtain aside suddenly and stood there, one towel wrapped around her hair and one clutched tightly around her breasts but gaping apart over the rest of her. He saw a line of skin along her side from ribcage to leg. If she hadn't been so small, the towel wouldn't have been long enough to reach the just barely decent status it now held. "These just aren't makin' it," she announced. 

He nodded, averting his eyes. "I've got some clothes for you on the-- over here." He pointed to the bed and started for the safe room door. 

She sighed. "Well... come here," she prompted. 

He paused and looked at her clinging to the doorway and frowned. He was acting like a teenager, he told himself. Of course she couldn't make it to the bed alone. 

As he approached, she reached for his shoulder, pulling herself close as he put an arm around her waist. He half-guided, half-carried her across the room. It looked like her leg was moving better for the heated water, at least. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the towel slip just as he lowered her to the bed. He made sure to look the other way. "I'll be just... outside. Call me when you're..." 

He fled. 


	4. Part 3

**Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like _This_  
Part 3**

It was another twenty minutes of waiting before he stationed himself beside the door again. "Are you all right?" he called. 

"Uh-huh." 

And...? "Are you dressed?" 

"Uh...huh." 

He peeked his head in first to be sure. She was sitting sideways at the head of the bed, with her knees drawn up and the t-shirt stretched around her legs. Her chin rested on her knees and her eyes stayed at half-mast, even when she looked up as he entered. 

"Feeling better?" he asked. 

"Better," she agreed with a slight nod. 

He scooped up the pants still lying on the bed and looked a question at her. 

"Didn't fit," she said with a shrug. "Too big." Her words were slightly slurred. 

"Are you all right?" he asked again. 

She nodded her head without lifting her chin from her knees, causing her head to wobble like one of those dogs you still saw in the back window of older cars. "I don't drink," she announced. 

"The whiskey." He nodded. He'd noticed the blood liberally smeared on the white towels, so it was probably just as well. "Let's get to work on those hands," he said. He pulled the first aid case down off the shelf and checked the contents to be sure it held all the items he'd need. It did. He gathered a bowl from the shelf beside the bed with a jug of sterile water to fill it, and a washcloth from the head and he was ready. He set it all on the end of the bed and sat down next to her. 

"Ready?" he said, holding out his hand for hers. 

"No," she replied mournfully, but gave him her hand, palm up, anyway. 

~~~

Whiskey was wonderful stuff. But she didn't drink. Not really. Not anymore. And not whiskey straight, at all. Still, the slight buzz she had from the whiskey he'd given her almost took the pain away. 

"Ow!" 

"Sorry." 

Almost. 

"Say," she said, "do you have any more of that whiskey?" 

"Yes, I do." He continued plucking glass out of her skin. 

A very literal man, her hero. "Do you think I could--" No, better to be specific. "Pour me some more, please." 

He looked at her then. "I thought you didn't drink." 

She turned the baby blues on him. "It hurts," she whined piteously. 

He nodded, setting aside the bowl of bloody water and torture implements he'd been using. He pulled out a bottle of what she recognized as "the good stuff" from the cabinet built next to the bed. A mug came out of the same cabinet and poured her a generous measure. After handing it to her, careful to help her lower it to the bed beside her, he stowed the bottle and took up his former position, gesturing for the hand he'd been working on. 

She sighed. "Back to the gruesome task already." She presented her palm while the other hand saluted him with her mug, and took a healthy swallow. This stuff really was great. 

"Ow!" She tried to pull her hand away and found out that her hero also had a grip like steel. Which did not let up until she relaxed her arm and let him go back to work. 

She took another drink. "So," she breathed. "Does my hero have a name?" 

Tossed her a puzzled glance. Then understanding dawned. "Burt Gummer." He went back to the task at hand. 

"Burt Gummer..." She rolled the name around on her tongue for a moment and decided she liked it. It suited him, somehow. She liked him, too. It could be just the fact that he'd saved her from certain death in the jaws of a giant underground monster that made her feel that way, but... That was a good enough start for her. She studied him while he concentrated on his work and made up her mind at last that he was... interesting. She thought fuzzily of all the men she'd known and decided that she'd never met anyone quite like him. He was... unique. 

"I'm Kylie." He only glanced at her in acknowledgement. "Callahan." He ignored that. 

She sighed. Literal minded and sooo talkative. She took another sip of the whiskey and searched for a place to put it down. The floor was too far away and the bed was starting to move... 

He reached across her and pulled a shelf out of the wall. 

"Ahhhh," she said with a smile. "In-geen-ee-us!" 

He nodded and went back to pulling slivers. 

He'd cleaned up while she was in the shower; taken off the guns, knives, and whatever other weapons he'd had hanging off his clothes earlier. Bombs, maybe. Not that she was complaining. Nope, no complaints from her. He was her hero, her knight on a white charger. 

He didn't look quite like a knight. Not that she wasn't willing to revise her conception of "knight" just for him. He still wore the combat boots and cammies, but just a t-shirt now, and she honestly couldn't decide if he was less intimidating that way or not. Somehow, he looked even taller in just the t-shirt, which put him at about... maybe a mile over her little head. About her father's age, though, she thought. Maybe a bit younger, but not by much. The hair was thinning on top, but at least he didn't do one of those awful comb-over things. Tall, that was sure. And strong. Definitely strong. 

He probably thought she was in idiot. She couldn't imagine what made her go into shaking fits. And she'd never had a panic attack in her life. "I don't usually panic like that," she blurted out. 

He glanced up from his work and made an effort to smile and nod. It wasn't much of one. It only made it clear that he didn't believe her at all. 

"Really." 

He barely nodded at that. 

"I just... have been under a lot of stress lately." That sounded defensive and whiney, even to her ears. He obviously didn't believe her anyway. Maybe she'd better just... shut up for now. 

She wondered why he "lived underground." And like _this_. She bet this was a secret military base and he was the lone soldier sent here to guard... some super secret government device. Something that spies the world over searched relentlessly for. His job was to defend the bunker from all comers. Maybe giving up his life for truth, justice, and The American Way. 

And rescue damsels in distress, of course. 

"All set," he announced, rousing her from her dream of knights and damsels. Whiskey sure did make you sleepy. 

That, and being attacked by a... a whatever that _thing_ was. 

He pressed on her palms in various places. "Let me know if it hurts anywhere," he said. 

"Pretty much hurts everywhere." 

He rolled his eyes toward her. "I meant," he explained a little too patiently, "if it hurts more in any one spot. As if there was still glass there." 

Ah. "Nope, nope and nope," she said with a smile. "All better!" 

He slathered on a generous amount of some clear ointment and wrapped her hands loosely with gauze. "Anything else scraped or cut?" 

"Oh. Just these." She slid her legs across his until her knees were in his lap. "I'll never have pretty legs again," she mourned. 

~~~

I beg to differ, he thought, then then let out the breath he'd been holding, trying not to feel the heat of her legs across his. "Just cuts," he announced about the wounds on her knees. "Some bruises. Not even as bad as your hands." 

"Oh goodie," she said in a breathy, little-girl voice, and leaned back into the corner. 

"I'll just... fix these right up," he said and, reaching for the water, he went to work. 

When he'd finished smoothing the ointment on her knees, he expected her to tuck her legs back under her t-shirt. Or somewhere. But she was nestled in the corner, sound asleep. 

He started to slide away, out from under her legs, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Don't go." The corners of her mouth curved up in a slight smile, but her eyes didn't open. "Stay with me. Keep the monsters away. Just a minute more." Her voice was soft, sleepy, and altogether too seductive for his peace of mind. 

"Just a minute," he agreed, reluctantly, and leaned back against the wall. 

He studied her surreptitiously. She really was a little bit of a thing. Dainty and soft and creamy-colored from head to toes - which were painted with blue nail polish, he noted with some astonishment. The fingernails, he remembered, were also blue, though a different shade. And two of them - fakes, he'd realized as he was cleaning her hands - were missing from her battle with the blue jeans earlier. She didn't reach his chin, at least a foot smaller than his six-foot-four, even in the high heels on those boots she'd had on earlier. Strong, though, in good shape. Her legs felt like... 

"Don't go there, Gummer," he muttered under his breath. 

She fidgeted in her sleep, rubbing her leg where it touched the wool army blanket on top of the bed. Automatically, he reached to the shelf above his head and pulled down a lighter, cotton blanket. She needed something softer. She had such soft skin. He'd tried not to notice, but she was soft, all over. She'd felt good in his arms before, he realized, nestled against his chest. And she smelled good. Not flowery and overpowering, but subtle and delicate and... 

He found himself fondling the blanket and shook it out ruthlessly. He tucked it around her, careful to avoid touching her at all. "Pull yourself together, man." He took a deep breath and looked away. 

But she was tough, too, he decided. Hardly a whimper out of her while he'd examined her, and look at the way she'd handled that graboid. Stabbing the thing with a dull knife - and making the beast _think_, by God! Give her a gun and he'd've put his money on _her_! He was impressed with the way she'd handled herself. Just doing what she could with what she had! No tears and hysterics for this one. Not while she was in the thick of it, anyway. He remembered the aftermath too. She was just a girl, after all. He found himself grinning and swiftly wiped that expression off his face, replacing it with something more like his usual wary concern. 

She was asleep, though, and didn't care what he was thinking, even if it did show. Her nose twitched when a lock of hair spilled into her face and he reached over to brush it aside. He smiled. Even her hair was silky. She was a fine looking girl. Beautiful, even, the way her honey blond hair framed her face, and her lashes rested on her cheeks... 

He reached across her and grabbed the mug, finishing off the whiskey inside. No use wasting it, he told himself, and he could use a drink. 

He shook his head, slowly. How did these things happen to him? He couldn't believe he was sitting on his bed with a beautiful, young, nearly-naked - and quite unconscious - girl. He should go. 

"Just one more minute," he promised himself. "Just one more..." 


	5. Part 4

**Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like _This_  
Part 4**

His wristwatch went off at 0500 on the dot, as usual, but Burt didn't wake instantly, which was not usual. 

When he finally woke, slowly, he felt good, surprisingly good. He stretched his legs and squeezed the pillow he held clutched to his side-- 

And realized, it wasn't a pillow. 

His eyes flew open and he flinched. Slowly, he looked down at the girl in his arms, just in time to see her eyes drift open and focus on him. "Oh... Uh..." He tried to push himself away from her, but he was lying crammed up against the wall and she was sprawled half on top of him, her arm around his waist and one leg nestled between his. 

When full conciousness hit her, she pushed once on his chest and started to slide off the narrow bed. His arm was already around her shoulder, and he caught her, pulling her up hard against his chest. "Slowly," he admonished brusquely, trying not to notice how she felt against him with only the thin material of the two t-shirts between them. 

She rolled carefully into a sitting position while he moved with her, keeping her from falling off the bed. Only when she was sitting up and steady did he release her. 

"Are you all right?" He seemed to keep asking that question. 

"Sort of," she whined, fingertips first, until she remembered her injuries, then the back of her hands to her temples. 

Then Burt heard what had finally woke him. "Come in Burt, this is Jodi." A beat. "Burt? Are you there? Come in Burt." It sounded urgent. 

He looked at his watch as he left the safe room and headed for the radio. Almost 0630! How did he sleep so late? 

"Come in Jodi. This is Burt." 

"Where have you been Burt? I've been calling for almost twenty minutes." 

He opened his mouth, realized there was no reply he wanted to give, and closed it with a snap. "What's the problem, Jodi?" he finally asked. 

"We've lost someone," Jodi's voice came. 

He groaned. Not another one for the list. El Blanco had had a busy night. "What happened this time?" he asked. 

"Nancy's friend from LA was supposed to arrive last night. Her friends on the other end heard from her about eight. She was in Las Vegas. But she never arrived here, Burt. Nancy waited up all night." 

Burt turned, slowly, toward the safe room. Kylie leaned against the door. Smiling weakly, she raised her hand and waved. 

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the radio. "I've got her, Jodi." 

"What do you mean, 'you've got her,' Burt?" 

"She's here. El Blanco was up to his tricks last-- He got her SUV." 

"Is she all right?" Nancy's worried voice this time. 

"She's fine. Slightly injured, but her truck got it worse than she did." 

Kylie gasped. "My Rover!" 

Burt glanced back to her and waved her quiet. Jodi was speaking. "Look, I'll bring her into town, you sit tight." 

Kylie was limping across the room. "We have to get my Rover. It's got everything in it." 

"And wake up Tyler," he said to the radio. "We've got an SUV to fetch." 

"That Rover had everything I own in the world!" Kylie said, staring up at Burt. "Do you think it's still there? Do you think somebody stole everything out of it?" 

He nodded, hands on her shoulders. "It's probably right where we left it. I'll get Tyler and we'll bring it back to town." 

"Probably empty," she muttered. 

He sighed. "This isn't the city," he pointed out. "You're probably the only person that's used that road this week." 

"Oh. So there's a chance my stuff is still there?" 

"Isn't that what I just said?" 

"Good! I don't think I could stand to lose what's left." She turned away. "Let's go get my truck." 

"No, _you_ are going into town. _I_ will get your truck." 

"I can--" 

He pointedly looked down at her bruised and battered leg. 

"Fine, fine, fine. I get it." 

He watched her disappear into the safe room. His t-shirt hit her about mid-thigh, but was just tight enough to fuel the imagination. "First though, we'll get you some clothes." He headed for his indoor range. 

~~~

He came into his bedroom/kitchen/storage room just as she'd finished looting his bathroom. "Hey, I stole your comb, okay? I need to get over this terminally bad hair thing I've got going on." 

"Fine, fine." 

"I was looking for some Ibuprofen or something. That drink did its pain thing last night but it's sure time to pay up this morning." She rubbed her temples, trying to look pathetic. 

He reached into the drawer in the nearby table and found a bottle of pills. He shook out two and gave them to her. 

She smiled. "Now if I just had a toothbrush..." 

Burt reached up to one of the top shelves and instantly produced a toothbrush in its original wrapper. "Sink in there," he said, pointing to the bathroom. 

"Hey, I'm impressed!" She looked up but couldn't see much of the shelf contents since they were at least two feet above her head. "Any chance of some moisturizer up there?" 

He shook his head. "Negative. Just the essentials." 

"Well, I think it's essential," she muttered. "I'll be dry as a stick but at least I'll have minty fresh breath and a clear head!" She limped back into the bathroom and looked around for a sink. There wasn't one in any configuration she was accustomed to, but in this place, that didn't mean there wasn't one in plain sight. Maybe she could guess... 

He gave in and helped her out by leaning over her to flip up a cover that revealed a small sink in the same console as the toilet. "This whole place is like a giant puzzle ring!" she giggled, delighted. 

That had him almost smiling. "I'll leave your jeans out here," he called from the other room. 

She whirled, almost knocking herself to the floor. "No! I don't want--" 

"It's all right," he soothed. "They're clean and dry. I have a sort of laundry system here. Built it from my own design." 

She regarded them suspiciously as he put them on the bed. They didn't _look_ slimy. 

He put his hands on his hips. "It's these or go as you are - nothing I have will fit." 

She considered. The t-shirt - obviously his - was long enough to be decent, as far as she was concerned. Though it did make him decidedly uncomfortable. She shrugged. "Point to you." She turned back to her teeth. "My Rover _better_ be there," she muttered. 

He'd left when she began struggling into her jeans. She peeked out into the main room and saw him on the opposite side, fiddling with some equipment he had over there. 

"What a strange man," she muttered, watching him work. This guy had a story, and she wanted to hear it. She reviewed the little Nancy had mentioned about Perfection when they'd met at the retreat last year. She'd mentioned a Burt, but Kylie had the impression that guy was some kind of homicidal maniac with delusions of grandeur. A real nut case. Could there be two Burts in Perfection? She hadn't said, and from what Nancy had reluctantly let slip, there couldn't be two of much of _anything_ in this town. But Nancy definitely hadn't mentioned a secret military base, either. And she hadn't mentioned monsters. She could have at least mentioned the monsters. "But noooo..." 

Kylie picked up her boots - which would not fit over her now swollen ankle - and trailed out to the main room. 

"Ready?" he asked when he heard her approach. 

She looked him up and down. Mostly up. He really was tall. "_I_ am. _You_ look like you've slept in your clothes. Is that going to be a problem?" 

As she expected, he looked uncomfortable. So he didn't want everyone knowing about their singularly unromantic night together, huh? "You can change," she suggested. "I'll wait." She parked herself in the chair he'd put her in last night and tried to look patient. 

"I'll only be a minute." He hurried into the next room and hit some control that closed the door behind him. Locked too, by the sound of it. 

"No fair," she said with a grin. "You saw _my_ underwear." 

She got up and limped around the room, examining the equipment. "Don't know what that is. Don't know what _that_ is. Don't _want_ to know what that thing is... Ah, Mister Computer. What are you doing in this crowd of strangers?" She moved the mouse and the Guns & Ammo screensaver shut down. An official-looking box appeared and said: SECURITY SYSTEM ENGAGED. ENTER PASSWORD. 

She frowned, backing away from the computer. "Didn't want to play solitaire that bad." She looked around for cameras or maybe gun barrels pointed at her but didn't spot any. "Doesn't mean they're not there, Kylie. Move along, move along. These are not the droids you're looking for." 

She finally spotted something else she recognized. "Well say hello to my little friend!" she quoted in a bad Cuban accent. She picked up her athame and hugged it. "We'll take you home and bless you and purify you and call you George," she cooed to the knife. Then she looked around for cameras again. "Be just like him to watch. Stop acting weird, Kylie. He'll think you're a flake." Then she paused. "As if there was any doubt after last night." She shook her head. "_Then_ you molest the guy in his sleep." She sighed. And here she promised to make everyone in Perfection think she was normal. 

She continued her tour of the room until one step landed wrong and suddenly her injured leg was on fire. "Okay, tour's over folks, back on the bus!" She sat where she was, on the floor, and rubbed her ankle and the aching muscles up her leg. "In the definite lack of any effective - though illegal - drugs, perhaps some meditation will help." Carefully, she crossed her legs - "Okay, I give up, just one" - and laid her knife in her lap. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. 

Just as she felt herself drifting into a light trance, the door slid aside and he came out. Her eyes flew open. He looked fresh as a new minted penny. Couldn't have been ten minutes. "What are you, the Flash?" 

"Come again?" He'd been giving her strange looks even before she opened her mouth. 

She shook her head. "Never mind. Ready?" 

He nodded, strapping on a gun, a very large knife, and stuffing various items into the pockets of his vest. 

"Are we... going into battle?" she asked wondering if she should ask for one of the guns on the very impressive - though strangely unoccupied - gun display across the room. 

He shot her a glance. "Never hurts to be prepared." 

"So is that El Grabon coming back? Shouldn't you, like, have a bigger gun? Like, maybe a cannon? Or an F-16?" 

He gave her that dubious look again. Such a serious man. "El _Blanco's_ not on the monitor. And if he's nearby, this will alert me." He held up his wrist with the funny watch. "He's probably gone. For now." 

She nodded and tried to get to her feet. The right leg worked fine. The left... "I think... Maybe I'm stuck down here." 

He gave in and asked the question that had obviously been on his mind since he came out. "What are you doing down there in the first place? Why didn't you just sit on one of the chairs?" 

"Ah..." She looked around the room for inspiration. Didn't find any. "Seemed like the thing to do at the time..." 

He shook his head and reached for her, pulling her to her feet easily. Then the left leg gave out again when he let go. He steadied her and frowned at her leg. "I thought it was better." 

"It was." Her voice sounded defensive. He suspected he was going to scold about the floor again. He seemed like the scolding type. "But now it's worse." She shrugged at his glare. "These things happen." 

He released her, a little at a time, but it was no use. She must have wrenched it again when she fell. "I'll have to carry you." 

He stooped to pick her up but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Burt..." 

"What?" he said when she didn't speak right away. 

She took a deep breath. What to say... How to say it... "I just wanted to say thank you. For saving my life and fixing me up and... everything." She frowned. "Actually, that seems kinda lame for such a big thing. But I really do mean it. If there's anything I can do, and I do mean _anything_, to make up for--" 

He waved off her words. "I monitor my geo-phone 24/7. If something goes on in the Valley, I know about it. This kind of thing happens all the time" 

"Still, I--" 

He waved her off again and bent to retrieve her. 

Her eyes narrowed. Okay, big guy. Ignore me, will ya... "Oh, and..." He paused, looked at her expectantly. "I just wanted you to know..." Now she had his full attention. "I don't usually sleep with guys I've only just met." 

He carried her to the truck over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. _Highly_ undignified. 


	6. Part 5

**Mama Never Told Me There'd Be Days Like _This_  
Part 5**

Nancy and Jodi spilled out of the store as soon as he pulled up. Tyler followed them out, still holding a coffee mug and yawning. 

"At last!" Nancy cried. "What took you so long? Kylie, are you all right?" 

Burt ignored her while walking around to the other side of the truck. He swept her aside as he pulled open the door and reached in for Kylie. He swept her out of the truck and carried her in, pausing only long enough for a very bemused Tyler to open the door. 

Kylie looked disheveled, he had to admit. She still wore his t-shirt and her own ragged jeans - torn at the knees and other places - and she carried her boots in one bandaged hand. 

After her initial shocked silence, Nancy recovered and started badgering him anew, following him into the store with a stream of questions. "What happened to her, Burt? Can't she walk? What happened to her hands?" 

Kylie thanked him and smiled when he set her down at the closest table and he headed for the coffee, leaving her to fend off Nancy herself. 

"Oo-oo-ee, Burt," Tyler said, taking up a station against the counter while Burt poured his coffee. "Where'd you find this one?" His words were for Burt, but his smile was all for Kylie as he watched Nancy and Jodi hovering over her. "They have any more?" 

"Graboid attack," Burt said shortly. "I'll need you to help with her SUV. If it's still drivable, we'll need to bring it here. Or tow it to Bixby." 

"Yeah, but," Tyler said, "how do you get all the luck? My tourists are usually..." He grimaced a lot, but couldn't come up with the term. "Well, not like _that_. She is _fine_." 

Burt shook his head and took up a station against the counter and glanced over to the three women. She was beautiful, he had to admit that. Even without the makeup she'd worn the night before, a bruise high on her forehead, windblown hair and wearing his oversized clothes, she was the stuff any man's dreams were made of. She looked up and caught him watching her. She smiled. He looked away. He hoped Tyler didn't ask about last night. He'd _never_ hear the end of it. Best he didn't even know she'd been at his place all night. 

"But Burt," Nancy turned to him after getting vague answers out of Kylie. "Where did this happen? What were you even doing off the road?" That to Kylie. "And how did she get out to your place? Can I get some answers?" 

Burt stood and opened his mouth to give her the answer she deserved. 

"And don't tell me 'that's on a need to know basis,' either," she insisted. 

Since that was exactly what he'd intended to tell her, he didn't say anything. 

"Do you realize I've been waiting up all night for her? Do you know how _worried_ I was?" 

"Exactly how is that my responsibility?" her snapped back. "I wasn't in charge of your visitors. Matter of fact, I don't remember being informed of any visitors coming to the Valley." 

"That's not the point, Burt, and you know it. You should have let me know as soon as you found her. How could you think I wouldn't be worried?" 

"How could I know you'd be worried. I didn't know she belonged to you." 

"Could you _at least_ tell me when and where this happened?" 

"I could not." 

"Burt--" 

"You know, Nancy," Kylie said, breaking into their argument. She sat in the chair between them, watching them argue, her head bobbing back and forth like she was watching some demented ping-pong match, as had everyone else. "Burt had to patch me up some, Nancy." 

"All _night_?" 

Kylie rolled her eyes. "What, I'm not allowed a _brief_ stop in Vegas for some fun? What are you, the Sheriff of Entertainment?" 

"But--" 

"And how was I to know I was going to be attacked by some underground grab-on?" 

"Graboid." All the Perfectionites joined in on that. 

"Yeah, whatever. Point is, when you were covering Lovely Perfection Valley's high points last year, 'vicious, people-sucking, underground monsters' should probably have been on the list." 

Nancy gasped. "You're right. I didn't mention El Blanco." 

Kylie shook her head. "Yeah, my point. Trust me, not the best way to start your day." 

"Well, you're right, I--" 

"Look, Burt says my Rover might still be there. Let's test that theory, okay? Can we cut the man some slack on the timetable? Just for today? Doctoring takes time, you know." She waggled her still bandage-clad fingers. "Remember, if not for Burt, I'd be a whole lot later..." 

Nancy nodded. "You're right." She turned to him, looking chastened. "Thank you, Burt." 

Burt nodded, reluctantly. He was as uncomfortable with her gratitude as he'd been with Kylie's. He set his coffee on the counter and turned to Tyler. "Ready to get that SUV?" Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the door. 

He stopped in the doorway, giving Kylie a look. He didn't know how she'd determined he didn't want them to know she'd been with him all night, but he wanted to thank her, somehow. 

She only quirked her lips in a secret smile and shrugged. He'd just interpret that as, "you're welcome." 

"The keys are in it!" She called after them. 

~~~

When Burt and that man in the cowboy hat left the store, Kylie turned to Nancy. "Who _was_ that masked man?" 

"What?" 

"What's his story? He appears out of nowhere, rescues me like a knight on a white charger, takes me to his secret military base, patches me up with the skill of a surgeon... What's the story?" 

Nancy's mouth opened, but she looked like she didn't know where to start. 

"Thirty words or less," Kylie prompted. 

"Burt's just strange," the woman who could only be Jodi said helpfully. 

"You didn't call his place a 'secret military base' to him, did you?" Nancy asked. 

Kylie thought about it. "Hmmm... Probably. Why?" 

Jodi and Nancy shared a grin. 

"Is _that_ why he kept poking that needle into me?" 

They nodded, laughing. 

"So tell us what happened!" Jodi said, sitting at the table beside her and leaning forward eagerly. 

"Yes, tell us," Nancy said, joining them at the table. "I'm not clear on the details." 

"Not much to tell," Kylie shrugged. "There was this big yellow sign, I stopped to look, and something flipped my Rover. Then the Rover's spinning like a turtle on its back and I'm getting yanked into the maw of a graboid. Next thing I know, there's Burt standing over me like he's ten feet tall and the graboid is running like hell. Just like the movies. Then Burt's wrapping me up like a mummy and I'm on my way here, safe and sound." 

"Why didn't he bring you here first?" Nancy asked. Persistent woman, Nancy. 

Kylie shrugged. "Maybe he thought his secret underground military base had more medical supplies. I don't know." 

"About that..." Jodi began. "Burt's a little... sensitive... about secret government things. Might not want to call his home a 'secret military base' anymore." 

Nancy nodded. "Yeah, he sees conspiracies behind every bush." 

Nancy looked like she was gearing up for another line of questioning, so Kylie headed her off. "So who's the yummy guy in the cowboy hat?" 

"Tyler? Yummy?" Nancy laughed. 

"He moved here a few months ago," Jodi supplied. "He owns Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. Tourist business. Makes decent money, though." 

That worked, so she headed off more questioning by asking questions of her own. Soon, she knew of the existence and probable location of every other inhabitant of Perfection Valley, including El Blanco, all there was to know about graboids, shriekers and assblasters, how to live off one canteen of water and a knife in the desert, and many other useless facts. Just as she was sure she'd scream if she had to come up with one more question, she saw a flash and looked out the window in time to see Burt's truck stop in front of the window. 

"My Rover," she said, struggling to get to her feet. Nancy and Jodi both took an arm and between them, they got her to the door and out to the porch that ran along the front of the store. 

Her brand new Range Rover looked sadly abused. The right side, in front of her, was scraped and dented from front to back. The roof was slightly caved in, especially on the opposite side. The windows, all of them, were gone. "My Rover... My stuff..." 

~~~

Kylie looked like she was going to be sick. Burt stepped forward and helped her sit down on the steps in front of the store. "You shouldn't be on your feet," he explained. She just stared at her battered SUV. "It's not as bad as it looks. This can all be fixed." Maybe not so it looked exactly like it had when she'd bought it, but he didn't think she needed to hear that just then. "Most of your cargo in the back is fine. It was packed tightly enough that it barely shifted when the vehicle went over. We got all your belongings off the highway. They're all in here." He got up and opened the passenger side door to show her. 

"Oh!" she made a little cry and struggled to her feet. He went to help her but Tyler got there first, and walked her to the SUV. 

She picked up an ornately-carved, velvet lined box from the rubble. It hadn't fared as well as the load in the back. It was cracked nearly in two, and its contents could have been any of the bits of strange objects they'd found scattered on the road. She examined the box mournfully then cradled it to her, while reaching out to shift through the debris on the seat and floor. There were candles and small statues, some cards and bits of ribbon and small boxes of spices, he believed. Not illegal drugs, anyway - he'd checked. Nothing, he thought, that looked very valuable, but it had obviously meant a lot to her. She picked up her purse from the rubble and put it on her shoulder, but Nancy stepped forward and took it from her. 

"I'll hold that for you," she said gently. 

Kylie turned toward Nancy and held out her box. "It's all broken," she whimpered and a small voice. 

Nancy nodded. "But you're okay, that's what matters," she said. 

Kylie just shook her head. 

"I can fix that," Burt said, because he had to say something. He took the box from her and examined it closely. "A little glue," he assured her with a pat on her shoulder. "Be good as new." 

Nancy hugged her, which seemed to help. He'd never seen a woman that needed more physical contact. "Let's go sit down. We can unload your truck later." 

Kylie nodded and started inside, holding on to Nancy. With Tyler's arm around her other side, much to Burt's chagrin. 

He put Kylie's box on the floorboard of his truck and followed the sad little group into the store. 

~~~

She sat down at the same little table, thinking of all the little bits and pieces from her altar that she hadn't seen in the wreckage. The little jade mouse she'd picked up in China, the willow, birch and rowan tree branches she'd gotten from Britain... So many years to assemble the contents of her favorite little altar and now gone... 

They were talking over her again. 

"We'll take it into Bixby on Monday," Burt was explaining. "They'll fix it right up." 

"Ed's is going to have a heck of a time finding parts for that," Tyler countered, then turned to her. "Is that a brand new Range Rover? Fully loaded?" 

Kylie nodded. "Just three weeks old." 

"Bet that cost... fifty grand, at least," he added. 

"Seventy. Two." 

Tyler whistled in sympathy. Nancy patted her hand again. 

"If we can't get it fixed in Bixby, we can send it to Las Vegas. They'll--" 

The ground started shaking. Earthquake! 

She struggled to her feet, but Nancy motioned her back, mouthing, "El Blanco." 

She went to the display case at the front of the store and opened it, trying to hold what she could in place. Tyler dove to the cooler behind it and pulled the plug. Jodi held her kitchen implements in place. 

Kylie felt her heart start to race. El Blanco? Here? She looked around. Everyone else seemed fairly calm. Even Burt just stood at the counter with a finger to his lips. She expected El Blanco to burst through the door any moment. Had she lived through last night just to be graboid breakfast today? 

Then she felt a hand slide onto her shoulder. She turned. Burt gave her that peculiar half-smile of his, meant to be reassuring. 

It was. She smiled in return. 

It was nice having your own personal knight in shining armor. 

~END~


End file.
